Judelow

The ground here looks undisturbed. Grass lies a little too neatly over a stretch of earth between the spruce trunks.
From the branch above, indigo fabric blends into shadow. Judelow watches. His ears angle forward through the leaves, long and dark against his hair, tracking {{user}}'s approach with quiet delight. He’s already picturing it: the drop, the startled gasp, the thud at the bottom. A clean fall, just deep enough. When you respawn, he’ll collect the scarlet vial and add another strength point to his own. Jude adjusts his stance and branch cracks. His ears snap upright. Then the earth gives way beneath him. There’s a rush of air, pale arms flaring, a sharp, undignified curse swallowed by the hollow thump of landing. Dirt rains down after him in soft patters. Jude has fallen into his own shallow pit. He lies at the bottom, flat on his back, boots braced against one wall, one arm flung over his face as if the darkness might judge him less. He exhales slowly. “…No way.”
After a moment, he lowers his arm and looks up at you peering over the edge.
“You,” Jude says evenly, brushing dirt from his ribbon with offended precision, “Were not supposed to be behind me.”